


Throne of Flame and Stone

by Reddragon1995



Category: Game of Thrones (TV Series)
Genre: Abstinence, Aunt/Nephew sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Jon and Dany are married with a baby boy, Jonerys, Oral Sex, Throne Room Sex, a cute baby - Freeform, being real about what having a new baby is like, no sugar coating babies, post partum blues, post partum sex, work inspired by fan art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 09:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16595459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reddragon1995/pseuds/Reddragon1995
Summary: After winning the wars and welcoming a son, Jon and Daenerys return to Dragonstone for their coronation, and horniness ensues.If you don’t ship Jonerys, why are you here? Fly away!This fic doesn’t paint the rosiest image of new motherhood. The Dany I describe is war ravaged and a new mother which is basically the same thing. Shit happens to a body after birth. Daenerys ain’t Kate Middleton. So if you’re looking for a perfectly put together Dragon Queen, so sorry!





	Throne of Flame and Stone

The throne room was brighter and warmer than she remembered. Everything was, since the wars were won, and her beloved was alive and well by her side, and their new babe sleeping peacefully in her arms. From beneath her cloak she brushed her hand against his, lacing their fingers together. He responded with a reassuring squeeze as they proceeded toward the throne.

 

In three days’ time they would be crowned King and Queen, not in the ruined Red Keep, but here in their ancestral castle, from where they would rule, side by side, to build a new world from the ashes of the old. 

 

Little Aemon stirred just then against her breast, breaking her reverie.

 

“He’s wakin’ up,” Jon drawled, stopping short in the midst of the ancient etching that adorned the cool stone floor, the sigil of a great House reborn. He circled from her side to stand before her, and placed a tender kiss on the babe’s head, already crowned with a downy wisp of raven curls. “He’ll be wantin’ a nip soon.”

 

 “Not quite yet,” Dany whispered, “but he probably needs changing.” She turned to Missandei, who gleefully took the baby Prince from her arms and cooed as she carried him off to see to it. 

 

Aemon was over a month old now, and sleeping a bit longer of the nights than he had those first harried weeks. But his parents were not; the memories of so much death and loss still vexed them, remnants of the tumult into which the boy had been born lingering in the realm and in their hearts and dreams. 

 

They watched silently as Missandei exited, and the two Unsullied sentries pushed the heavy oaken door closed behind her.

 

It was infrequent that the King and Queen weren’t flanked by advisors or attendants or guards, and even when they were not, Dany rarely let their boy out of her reach. The sacrifice had been their intimate moments; the last months of the war and her confinement wouldn’t allow it, and Samwell had cautioned that such activities should be avoided so soon after childbirth.

 

Truth be told, Dany felt undeserving of Jon’s desire of late. Dark circles had formed under her weary, bloodshot eyes, and her hips and lower belly bore puckered pink marks as a testament of the life she’d nurtured within her. She’d bled steadily for weeks after the birth, leaving her weakened and sluggish; she was weepy and tired, and her figure had not yet settled back into place. Milk leaked from her tender breasts at the most inopportune times, and they’d swelled to twice their usual size; not succulent fruits to be fondled and worried by Jon’s lips and tongue, but engorged with blue veins and milk and pain that made it clear that, for the time being, they were for the babe’s use alone.

 

So far, Dany had rebuffed any suggestion of a wet nurse or a nanny, though she realized her royal duties would soon require it. But she was not yet ready  to share him; she wanted to savor the moments she knew would pass so quickly. Every day the boy changed, and she wanted to keep forever the indelible image of his chubby cheeks and dimpled chin, the nose that was hers and the hair and eyes of his father; his sated sighs and coos and even his cries and burps, or the sweet hum of contentment when he suckled her breast. It still didn’t seem real, so if she woke tomorrow to find it all a dream, at least she’d have that. The thought of another woman feeding him or swaddling him or singing him to sleep was unacceptable.

 

And Jon understood, because he was Jon, but she knew frustration was setting in. She could feel it in her body too, when she watched him rise in the mornings, his hard cock straining against his breeches, or the firm and muscled planes of his chest tightening with tension as he readied himself each day. He was so well-made, a sculpture formed of fire and ice, and so beautiful with his piercing eyes, dark as dragonglass, and wild black curls, and she yearned for him, even in her physical disarray.

 

 As he stood before her now, so close she could feel the warmth of him, flame flickered in her belly, and her walls twinged in protest of fulfillment denied.  


“I think you may have to fight your friend over the boy,” Jon chuckled, “she looked ready to devour him.”

“Well, he is a scrumptious little morsel,” Dany mused, catapulted from her daydream.

“He is. Our little Dragon.”

Jon beamed, and her heart soared.  It was so endearing, how proud a new father he was. He’d once told her that he never imagined fathering a child, for he would not pass on the shame of his bastardy to another. How much had changed; instead of a bastard, the boy was a trueborn son of two great and ancient houses that would bind the kingdoms for generations to come.

 “He wails more like a Wolf.”

“He does have some lungs, doesn’t he?” Jon wrapped a possessive arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head. Dany shuddered, desire pooling within, coiling through her belly, radiating to her nethers as she inhaled his scent and melded into his embrace. 

She urged him forward to ascend the dais on which the throne stood resolute. Fleetingly, she considered that it was a seat meant for one. _There_ _are_ _changes_ _to_ _make_.

Jon shifted to stand aside her, his arm still clasped at her waist, and she tentatively wrapped both arms around his middle, suppressing a gasp when she felt his muscles contract at her touch, for she knew what it meant.

“It seems so long ago, the day we met.”

Aye it does,” he pined. “Much has happened.” 

He pivoted to face her, lowering his lips to her ear as she wound her arms around his neck and played at the mess of curls there. His hair had grown some, now easily reaching his shoulders, but she’d learned to stop complaining when he insisted on tying half of it back in the Northern fashion rather than letting it flow unbound. He’d been grumbling for weeks about needing a trim, but their days were otherwise occupied. She’d imagined raking her fingers through his mane and perhaps commemorating his victories with a braid, but hadn’t asked.

Jon’s eyes fluttered closed at her tender touch. “I’ll never forget how beautiful you were that day. How... intimidating. Definitely not what I expected.”

“Nor were you. You were stubborn and infuriating but so very pretty I could hardly mind.”

He pressed his forehead to hers and his narrowed dark eyes cut her to the bone, as always. “I don’t like bein’ called ‘pretty.’ That’s been used to insult me for years.”

Daenerys craned her neck and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “It’s not an insult, you are quite comely. Then again I was once told that rare is the ugly Targaryen.” She sighed then and stepped back, her countenance darkening. “I suppose I’m the exception.”

 “What nonsense are you talkin’ love?” He jerked his head and furrowed his brows, holding her at an arm’s length. “

Tears welled and stung in her eyes, which annoyed her. Gods, she wept at the silliest things these days. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Look at me!” She gestured up and down her body. “My hair is a fright, my clothes don’t fit, every part of me is sagging, from my eyes to my...my tits and ass,” she choked on the vulgarity, and fought the sudden urge to punch her lover in the throat when he smirked.

Gripping her upper arms in his sturdy hands, Jon pulled her close again. Dany steadied herself and relaxed, concentrating on his affectionate northern drawl, smooth and sweet as honey. “You’ve just had a baby. And I was there when it happened and I saw what you went through to bring our son into this world....if it were me....I’d still be bedfast.”

Damn it all, sometimes he was so effortlessly charming, his father’s son more than he realized. “I know,” she sighed, “But I have three days to make myself presentable for our coronation, and I look like a crone.”

Dany could imagine the gears turning in her husband’s mind as he carefully worked out his reply. For all his qualities, eloquence was not his gift, though sometimes he surprised her.

“You could walk through this throne room in rags with your leaky tits and stringy hair and you’d still be the most beautiful Queen this kingdom has ever known.” If nothing else, his intent was earnest, so she decided against kneeing his balls for the moment. “You...are gorgeous. As gorgeous as the day we met, as shapely as you were the first time I saw you naked, and...I quite like the....enhancement.”

His hand slid around to her front, and when he trailed it up her torso to gently cup her breast, her legs nearly failed her, so long it had been since he touched her that intimately.

“And what I’d give for just a taste of you...”

Fire coursed beneath her skin, and she swallowed hard and kissed him.

“Have it, then.”

 “But....I thought....I don’t want to hurt you....”

Daenerys pulled him closer, so forcefully he nearly stumbled. “You didn’t care about me hurting you after the Battle Of Winterfell.”

“That was different.”

“It was not,” she retorted, even as she worked a hand between them and found the outline of his hardening length pressed against his trousers. She ran a finger along his shaft, eliciting a gasp, despite the barrier of his trousers and underclothes between them. “And I stopped bleeding days ago, and the pain is almost gone.”

“Dany....”

 Then she squeezed, silencing his protest. “I need you, Jon. I miss you. I need you to make me feel like a woman again, not a haggard nanny goat, but the woman you desire.”

He gripped her wrist, stilling her, his eyes boring into hers. “I always desire you, love.”

“Then have me. Here. Now. I need you, Jon.”

He needed no more convincing, his cock now stiff and straining against her hand as she began working the laces of his trousers. Remembering their audience, Jon turned toward the door. “Dovaogēdy, henujagon īlva. Ivestragī daor mēre iemnȳ.”

Wordlessly the Unsullied guards nodded and departed, the doors closing heavily behind them, and Dany’s arousal piqued at her husband’s primitive use of their mother tongue. He’d gotten so much better with it, but then again one could never claim that Jon didn’t know exactly what to do with his tongue.

As soon as they were alone, his lips crashed against hers, his ravenous tongue plundering her mouth, his beard bristling against her chin. Hurried fingers fumbled clumsily at laces and fastenings until both were as bare as their namedays; all the while, their lips and tongues locked in a seductive dance.

Jon broke their kiss first, retreating just to look at her, and his eyes were so full of unfettered lust that for a moment she crossed her arms over her breasts, her cheeks pinking with shyness.

“No love,” he murmured, “I need to see you.” He glided his hands over her upper arms and she lowered them as goosebumps prickled on her skin at his caress. Carefully, he brushed his thumb over a dusky nipple, already puckered with desire. She knew he longed to take her tits in his mouth, but he remembered their function, and thought better of it.  Instead, he trailed searing kisses up the column of her neck, as his hands ventured lower to massage her ass and tease her cunt. 

“You are so beautiful my Queen. So lovely, so sweet....” all the while he was easing her backward, until she felt the back of her knees contact the hard edge of the throne. 

Her heart thudded, desire dripping like  honey from her cunt as he claimed her lips for one more kiss, then he gently pressed her shoulders, urging her to sit. She reached for his cock but he halted her.

“No. First, I’m going to taste you.”

The throne was cold against her bare ass but she didn’t mind; how could she when her senses were overwhelmed with his touch and his words and a need for him borne of months of abstinence. Jon knelt before her and situated himself between her milky thighs that she readily opened for him. Her breath caught as he looped her left leg over his shoulder and gripped her ass, pulling her forward to perch precariously on the edge of the ancient stone seat.

She bit her lip to keep from screaming at him to get on with it, the anticipation thrumming in her cunt painfully, but then he lowered his head, placed a kiss on the inside of each thigh, and without further ceremony his tongue was upon her, easily finding her nub, laving it with quick, rhythmic flicks, not patiently savoring her sweetness, but devouring her like a man starved.

Daenerys arched her neck, screwing her eyes closed to shut out all but he was doing to her down below, gasping an moaning incomprehensively as he expertly worked her as only he could. His tongue was flint and steel and her cunt was the tinder, and within a minute she ignited, her release surging violently to the point of near pain. She cried nonsensically, thrusting her hips against his mouth as he milked every drop from her. He trailed  his hands downward from her ass to massage the back of her thighs and raised his head, his eyes alight with carnal need.

“More?” He growled.

She managed to nod, and without delay he urged her off the throne and onto his lap, plunging his cock into her depths. It had been so long but felt so familiar, and she ignored the burning and stretching and pain reminiscent of her first wedding night. There was little space between the foot of the throne and the edge of the dais, so her back was shoved against the cold rock, the nicks and imperfections digging into her skin, but she cared not. All that mattered was her husband inside her, moving in tandem with her, filling her with his love and desire, fusing their bodies and hearts together as one.

He wasn’t gentle about it. She was surprised, too; during her pregnancy he’d generally been  cautious when they coupled, so concerned about hurting her or the babe, and since she’d delivered, he’d treated her like a piece of fragile glass. But now he impaled her with rough, deep strokes, assaulting her tender womb and walls, and it hurt, but fine was the line between pain and pleasure. His fingers dug into her hips so hard she was sure she’d bruise, as he lifted her up and down on his length, his eyes never leaving hers.

It wasn’t long before she felt the waves of release building again. The sounds of their gasps and cries and skin slapping against one another’s echoed through the cavernous chamber, and the distinct smell of sex and sweat hung in the air. Dany arched her neck reflexively, but Jon grasped the back of her head, returning her gaze to his.

“Look at me,” he panted, “I want to see you come for me.” His eyes were clouded and animalistic, and her welling climax was radiating through her entire body. 

It was more than desire; more than love, even. It was completeness. Her heart pounded against her rib cage as her release drew nearer. Clamping her legs tighter against his sides, she settled her feet on the floor, allowing more leverage to guide his cock where she needed it, to stimulate the spot deep within where ecstasy was caged. Soon enough he found it, his relentless shaft assailing her like a battering ram trying to break her a piece at time.

Dany locked her hands behind his neck and fisted his hair. She ground her pelvis against him emphatically, one, two, three times, and then her body froze in stasis as she came harder than she ever had in her life, her walls contracting hard around his length while she cried his name.

“Dany wait, I can’t.....” and Jon grunted, digging his fingers deeper into her hips when his seed spurted forth, coating her walls and womb.  

They were covered in a sheen of sweat, their hair tousled and unruly, and they stayed still for several minutes, just breathing and touching and kissing, until she shivered. Jon fumbled around and found his discarded cloak, draping it over her, but remaind buried in her depths. When his cock finally softened, Dany scooted off his lap and reclined against the throne, his seed seeping from her cunt and covering her thighs in a salty-sweet glaze. He followed her lead, pulling the cloak over both of them, though his strong shoulders and one of his muscled legs were still tantilizingly exposed.

“I’m sorry about that,” Jon sighed after a time. “I didn’t mean to....you know...finish inside you.” He lowered his damp head to kiss her shoulder, then rested there, and she leaned her head against his. 

“It’s fine.” There was naught to be done about it now anyway, though she knew it was unwise. “I’m told that nursing women don’t have a moon blood for the first few months, so I think we’re safe.”

 _I_ _hope_ , _anyway_.

“I’ll give you as many babes as you’ll allow me,” Jon admitted. “Just maybe not so soon. We’ll have to be more careful.”

The thought of having more children with this man filled Dany with joy. When she discovered she was with child, she’d had many a dream of a life with Jon, covered in children, some raven-headed, some silver, and a crown and throne were the furthest thing from her mind. She’d imagined a combination of Valyrian and Northern names that would pay respect to his dual heritage. She envisioned  the restoration of their near-ruined house, new generations of the blood of the dragon that flowed in both her veins and his.

But she’d prefer to wait until Aemon was weaned and walking and talking before they got to work on the next one. For the first time in over a year, Dany felt they had all the time in the world.

“It’s getting late,” she observed, stirring Jon from a near doze. Her breasts were filling again, and a few drops of milk gathered on her nipples. “Time for another feeding.”

She stood first, then helped Jon to his feet, drinking in the sight of his perfect male form as he fumbled around to gather his garments and redress. She did the same.

“All right,” he said as he pulled at his trousers. “I’ll be in your....our chamber.” When he was decent, he sidled up to her, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her hair. “Have Missandei tend to the babe tonight, would you? In the nursery?”

Dany stepped back and retrieved her cloak from the floor and haphazardly threw it over her shoulders, quirking a smile. “You don’t want him in our chamber?”

“Not tonight, My Queen, I’m not near finished with you yet.” Jon closed the space between them and cupped her cheek, drawing her in for a kiss, playing at the seam of her lips with his tongue. Despite their exertions, she felt his hardening bulge against her hip, and she trembled with want in spite of herself. 

Pulling back an inch then placing another quick kiss on his swollen lips, Dany smiled. “Nor I with you, my King,” she teased.  “We have many miles yet to go.”

~END~

**Author's Note:**

> I used an online Valyrian translator so I’ve no idea of the accuracy. The rude version is Jon ever so politely telling the Unsullied to bounce so he can get busy with his wife. 
> 
> “Unsullied, leave us. Let no one inside.”
> 
> I see you Jon Targaryen!


End file.
